Delicate Feathers
by the corrupted quiet one
Summary: In a moment of intimacy, Dean wants to see Castiel's wings again. Wing kink, Destiel. R&R


_"Let me see them."_

Dean stared down at Castiel, gazing deeply into the glittering sapphires. He had the angel pinned down to the mattress, their bottom halves betwixt the sheets, pressed together. Both their chests rose and fell—Dean's deep and heavy, Castiel's erratic and soft—huffing pants puffing from their lips. Dean held Castiel's wrists to the bedspread, level with his ears, keeping the angel prisoner beneath him.

They had few chances like this, chances to make love without fear of interruption. The life they lived gave little opportunity for engaging in anything _serious_, making their moments in bed even more valuable. Though they loved and cherished any moment they spent together, these were the ones when their passion truly consumed them, when they could let their emotions drive them to physical means of expression, when the righteous man and the angel could commit blasphemy together.

Castiel gazed up at Dean. Even in the pale ray of the moonbeams cascading into the room, he could see Dean clear as day. He saw his dishevelled burnt honey hair, highlights faintly shining in the lunar light. He saw the beads of sweat that moistened his skin, blood pulsing through his fit body. He saw each one of Dean's latent freckles, the ones he often counted in calmer domestic moments. He saw more in Dean than anyone ever did, or ever could. Because Castiel cradled his soul the day he raised Dean, the proof in the handprint branded on Dean's forearm. He knew everything good, everything bad, everything about everything about Dean.

That was the start of it, the first step down the path that led him there, writhing under him as he watched the jade eyes gleam with both wild lust and gentle love.

But he still hadn't answered Dean's question.

"Cass," Dean rasped, voice gruff, out of breath, pleading, "Let me see them."

_The wings._

He wanted to see Castiel's wings again. The angel rarely showed them off, them impractical to walk around with on earth. In public, most would be confused, alarmed, startled to see them. In private, though, Dean could view and truly admire them for the wonders they were.

Castiel's eyes fluttered, opening his mouth to try to choke out a response. He couldn't speak, so overwhelmed with not only the hormones and needs of the vessel, but with feelings he found perplexing, baffling, astonishing. Dean awoke things in him that he would have never known otherwise. Still, experiencing them often left him speechless.

Dean's eyes locked on Castiel's quivering lips, watching them attempt to mouth out some sort of reply. Dean licked his own lips, tantalised by the angel's open mouth he could so easily kiss. The urge rose exponentially as the seconds went by; it was hard to resist.

Castiel tried to sort out his feelings, hoping not to drown in the sea of emotion. He just wanted to give an answer with his voice, with his words. That added sincerity to his actions, he believed.

But his reply didn't come quick enough, Dean caving in to his drive's commands. He leaned down and claimed Castiel's lips, asking in a different form now. The kiss was the question, action louder than words, forceful but begging.

It was passionate, heated, suffocating. They exchanged saliva and fervour, moist tongues knocking together and sparking flames. A fireball smouldered between their lips, waves of sheer pleasure rippling through them. Dean rocked his body, brushing against his lover, explosions of ecstasy going off. Castiel squirmed, arms fighting to break from the hunter's trap and hold him. But the all powerful angel, blinded by his love for the other, couldn't do it, aggravating him more.

Dean drew back, lips still less than an inch from Castiel's. They felt each other's warm breath brush their faces, the heat radiating from their bodies beating. Again, he gazed into the deep pools of the bluest blue, entreating him to reveal the glorious wings.

"Cass?"

"Mmm..." Castiel nodded, shutting his eyes a moment. Right, actions spoke louder than words. A kiss could say more than rambling mutters and be just as genuine.

He stole a quick kiss from Dean, taking advantage of the proximity before Dean took advantage of his wings' sensitivity. He laid his head back, letting his wings fade into existence. They spread across the bed, arching up at the tips. Each dark ashen feather was utterly perfect, soft and fragile yet sharp and fierce.

Dean pushed himself up, eyes flashing each which way, taking in every detail. These were the wings of a Warrior of God, a fighter who he conquered and who served him. But they were also the wings of his saviour, those of the one who plucked him from the Pit and breathed life into him once more. He remembered seeing them then, when he looked up at the beam of pure celestial light and saw a figure sporting the graceful things. He thought he was crazy, even after walking among the living again, but when Castiel came to him again... That was when he knew it was real.

Dean took a hand off Castiel's wrist, letting go of his arm in favour of reaching down and brushing the fine feathers. His fingertips tingled, touching divine perfection.

Castiel let out a muffled moan, shivering as Dean stroked him. His now free hand reached up and touched Dean's face, cupping the hunter's cheek. He turned the other's attention away from the wings and back to his eyes.

Dean's twinkled with wonder, amazement, pure awe. He marvelled over the wings whenever he saw them, and this was no exception.

Castiel's glistened, glossed with bliss, hungry for Dean's attention. Dean sometimes got distracted, too caught up in the feathers and less focused on the angel.

"Sorry," Dean began to draw back his hand.

"Don't be," Castiel said, low tide calming him enough to speak. He smiled, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's as his wings curved around and over them, becoming a canopy. The wings acted as arms, embracing Dean without even coming in contact with his skin, "I..._enjoy_ when you touch them."

The smirk on Dean's face thanked him, but the devilish glint in his eyes hinted that he'd abuse that privilege.

"Question is," Dean raised his hand, holding it up to one of the feathery walls, "Want it _gentle_," Slowly and sensually, he petted down, feeding off Castiel's twitches, squirms, and groans. He reached the curve and stopped, pausing to savour the expression on his face.

Castiel awaited the other option earnestly, eyes wide, lips parted.

"...Or _rough_?" Dean swiftly ran his hand up the wing, ruffling the feathers. Castiel winced, twisting at the mercy of the overpowering pleasure. Cries and mewls leaked from his lips, a symphonic sound to Dean's ears.

Dean took his hand away from the wing, quickly grasping Castiel's head. His fingers wove into the matted dark chocolate hair, then released the angel's other hand, placing it under his chin.

He let out a short chuckle, noticing a smile tease at Castiel's lips. Dean then dove down and kissed him again.

Now free to, the angel flung his arms around Dean's neck, pulling him closer. He stroked his back, massaging the muscles and tracing his bones. One hand wandered to the mark, his hand fitting exactly over the burn. He gripped it tightly, just as he had in Hell, affirming their profound bond in one of their most intimate moments.

Castiel's wings closed in on them, separating the real world from them, creating a den of love that raised a man from damnation and drove an angel to rebellion.

The wings shielded them from the outside world, making it so nothing penetrated their little den of iniquity. They could do as they pleased; they could touch, kiss, and love. There was no need to make amendments for this, no reason to atone.

They never committed heresy—for love was not a sin—and in turn created their own paradise.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I like wings. I wrote this at three in the morning for no reason. I hope you liked it, thanks for reading it all. Do leave a review! **


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